


Polling Errors

by tornandfrayed



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Bartlet for America campaign, F/M, Kleptomania, Pre-Series, the polls were wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:34:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27641480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tornandfrayed/pseuds/tornandfrayed
Summary: “Where are we going?”“The bar. Where we will not watch the returns. Where we will not discuss how to sample rural, white, non-college-educated voters. And where one of you will buy me a drink.”
Relationships: Josh Lyman/Donna Moss
Comments: 7
Kudos: 44





	Polling Errors

**Author's Note:**

> A million years ago Kcat1971 suggested more exploration of Donna’s stealing habit—as discussed in my story Conflict Resolution—and the gang all having fun in a bar. This has been lamenting in my drafts since then, just waiting to be revived in a fit of inspiration. Apparently, Election Day 2020 was that inspiration. Is this story exactly what Kcat1971 suggested? Probably not, but I hope everyone enjoys!

With the candidates essentially ceding the New Hampshire Primary to the state’s prodigal son in Governor Bartlet, the campaigns descended on South Carolina in a flurry. Benefitting from years spent in the southern democratic machine, Senator Hoynes’ campaign was hunkered down on the top floor of the Charleston Marriott, in preparation, no doubt, for the victory speech he would deliver in the convention center below later in the night. Senator Shearer’s campaign was, reportedly, still getting out the vote in Rock Hill in a last-ditch effort to inspire the more conservative voters with his folksy demeanor and third-way policies. Representatives Warren and Jackson, perhaps sensing defeat, or merely tired of reading negative polling data, had moved on Minnesota and Texas, respectively, in preparation for the coming Super Tuesday. 

Having read the same polls—and discerning from their numbers a far more favorable result—the Bartlet campaign had chosen to remain in the state and watch the returns from the local headquarters inside an unassuming strip mall just outside of Columbia. However, what had begun as a night of cautious optimism, had ultimately devolved into frayed nerves and disappointment. 

“This is depressing,” Josh announced for the second time in the five minutes as he rubbed his eyes forcefully with the heels of his palms.

“We heard you the first time, Josh,” Mandy responded sharply without moving her eyes from the television where the CNN pundits were discussing Hoynes’ landslide of a primary day. _This is night one of John Hoynes’ coronation as the democratic nominee for President, Tom._

Josh gestured in frustration towards the television, “The polls said—”

“Yeah, well sometimes to polls are wrong.” Mandy’s tone kept its frustrated edge. 

“But this wrong?” Josh’s pitch was climbing as he worked himself into his third frenzy of the night, “I mean this is Dewey beats Truman level wrong.”

Mandy rolled her eyes, “Hardly, Josh.”

“Technically, the polls were within the margin.” Sam added, lamely, hoping to stall another shouting— _they’re forceful discussions, Sam_ —match. 

“They said we’d come in second!”

Mandy stabbed at the remote and the television’s sound muted, “Yeah, well, we didn’t.” She stood from her spot on the worn leather couch and grabbed her coat, “I’m going to go make some calls.”

“Third? We’re not even picking up any delegates.” Josh deflated and collapsed into the spot Mandy had vacated with her exit, “This is embarrassing.”

“I thought it was depressing?” 

Josh covered his forehead with this forearm in characteristic melodrama, “It’s embarrassing and depressing.” 

Sam brightened, “You know who should really be embarrassed?”

The men glanced at each other, “The pollsters,” they finished together. 

C.J., having wrapped up her call with a Washington Post reporter— _It was a minor error in the polling numbers, Ken, and technically the results were within the margin of error. No, Governor Bartlet will not be dropping out of the race. Yes, we are still confident heading into Super Tuesday_ —appeared in the back-office’s doorway, “Alright, that’s it. Suit up, glimmer twins.”

“What?”

“I’m not watching this anymore.” C.J. gestured to the television, “We’re leaving.”

“Where are we going?”

“The bar.” C.J. grabbed Sam’s coat from the stand and tossed it at him, “Where we will not watch the returns. Where we will not discuss how to sample rural, white, non-college-educated voters. And,” she paused to turn off the television, “where one of you will buy me a drink.” 

Looking at Josh, Sam shrugged, “Fair enough.”

Josh stood and gathered his coat from where it was strewn across a random desk chair. “Glimmer twins?” he pondered to the now empty room. 

***

With this renewed sense of purpose, the staff’s mood had brightened at the prospect of a few hours with no calls from reporters, no debates over ad-buys, and the promise of copious amounts of cheap alcohol. 

As the gang made their exit, Donna, who was already wearing her winter coat given her proximity to the particularly drafty front entrance of the office, looked up from where she was shredding mountains of now obsolete documents. “Where are you guys going?”

“The nearest bar,” Sam enthused. 

“Oh, can I come?” Donna’s eyes looked hopeful. 

“Sure.” Josh said, having caught up with the group at the door, “Do you have your fake ID with you?”

“Oh, ha ha.” Donna crossed her arms over her chest, and raised her eyebrow, “You know I am over twenty-one, right?” 

“We’ll see.” Josh teased, as he held the door open, “Just make sure you know your address, or zodiac sign, or whatever it is bouncers are asking at the door these days.” 

C.J., having been outside warming up the car, called back to the group, “Can someone grab Toby before he, I don’t know, sticks his head in an oven?” 

***

As it happened, the pursuit for the nearest bar took far longer than expected. _Just stop at first one you see, C.J. The problem is I haven’t seen one, Sam_. By the time they found themselves outside of a seedy dive near the local university, the election had been called, and Senator John Hoynes declared the winner of the South Carolina primary. His victory speech already given and broadcast on the radio in spite of the Bartlet campaign’s best attempts to avoid the unwelcome reminder of their underperformance. _I cannot wait to win the nomination. And I know that in November we are going to win a great victory against my opponent._

However, if the broadcast of the speech had been unwelcome, then what awaited them in the front window of the bar had been something else entirely. 

“Huh.” Sam cocked his head as he looked at the life-size cut out of John Hoynes placed squarely in the front window. It’s dull eyes and artificial smile declaring ‘ _I’m with Hoynes_!’ “What are the odds?” 

“Really?” Josh moaned indignantly, “Here too?”

“Is there no end to our failure.” Toby’s voice grew louder as his sentence ended. 

“Could be worse,” Sam tried to reason, “It could be one of the Republicans.” 

“Yeah, well we’re not competing with any Republicans,” Josh huffed.

“Just forget about it.” Mandy suggested as she strode towards the bar’s entrance.

“ _Forget_?” Josh called after. 

“C’mon last call is in an hour.” C.J. came up between Josh and Toby and slung her arms across their shoulders, “we don’t have time to mill about for another bar.”

“Whatever.” Josh sighed, letting himself be led through the front door, “But I’m sitting with my back to that, so I don’t have to look at his smug face. ‘I’m with Hoynes,’ what a stupid fucking slogan.”

Sam turned to Donna, “Well, shall we make Josh pay for the first round of drinks?” 

***

“How are you doing that? Carrying all those at once?

Despite the late hour, the bar had been crowded when the overworked and underfed staffers had arrived. They’d sent Donna and Sam up to the bar to order the first round— _they’ll get served faster_ —while the rest of the group scouted for an empty booth. True to form, Sam was immediately cornered by a group of sorority girls celebrating a friend’s twenty-first birthday. Too polite to not make conversation, and too oblivious to tell the young women that he was likely much too old for them, this left Donna to carry the drinks table, still covered in the empty glasses of its previous occupants. Donna concentrated hard as she placed the six glasses she was carrying on the edge of the table, shrugging as she pushed one towards her new boss, “I used to work at a bar.” 

“Donnatella,” Josh’s eyes gleamed with delight, “are you telling me you were a bar maid?”

“Do you want this beer or not?”

“I paid for them! Give it to me.” Josh grabbed for the pint and took a long gulp. “So, tell me, were you a St. Pauli’s girl?”

“Josh.” She fixed him with a glare.

“Oh my god,” if Josh had been delighted before, now he was positively ecstatic, “ _you were_. Maybe I should have looked at your resume before I hired you.”

“Why? Are you regretting hiring me?”

“No.” Josh shook his head, and put his hands up in mock defense, “All I’m saying is maybe I would have given you less of a hard time had I known you had that whole innocent farm girl thing going for you.”

***

Maybe it was the lack of sleep or the lack of food that did come from a vending machine, but three rounds of beer had most of group feeling loose and more relaxed than they had been in a month. Josh, for one, was practically tripping over himself in search of the bar’s jukebox, while C.J and Sam were engaged in high-stakes and, by the looks of it, increasingly dangerous game of darts. Never known to be a happy drunk, Toby found himself back in the corner of the bar, eyes trained on the cardboard figure in the window and thoughts plagued by what that man represented. _More of the same_. 

“You looked like you could use another.” Donna slid another glass of whiskey down the bar as she sat in the seat next to him.

“Thanks.” He took the glass with a slight nod but didn’t engage any further. After a moment when she still hadn’t left the stool next to him, Toby tried again. “You don’t want to be out there with them?”

Donna sighed, glancing furtively in the direction of where Josh and Mandy were dancing, polling errors and forceful discussions temporarily forgotten, “Not really in the mood, honestly.”

“Yeah,” Toby toyed with the rim of his glass, “me neither.”

“You’re never in the mood, though.”

He took a sip of the whiskey, letting it burn in his throat as he returned his gaze to the cutout. “No, I suppose not.” 

Donna followed his gaze. “You know, looks actually can’t kill.”

“If wishing made it so.”

“You know,” she began after a moment, “Josh said we never were going to win here.” 

“Well, if Josh said it—” Toby could feel his anger rising. Josh, with his trust fund, and Ivy League education. With his high-powered D.C. connections. For Josh, politics was a game, an exercise in megalomania. What did he know of failure? What difference did it make to him who won the nomination? Josh Lyman was a party hack, a hatchet man who didn’t care who won the election so long as that map was painted blue by the end of the night. Josh didn’t understand vision or inspiration—Toby thought. 

But as he tore his gaze away from the figure in the window he saw, not the smug grin that deserved his ire, but rather the wide eyes of a young girl who had heard Governor Bartlet speak on television and had been so moved by his message that she drove halfway across the country to see him elected president. Josh Lyman and these D.C. party operatives may not understand vision and inspiration, but, Toby thought, Donna might. 

In that moment his anger abated. Now it simmered farther below the surface rather than threatening to unleash on a young woman he had only met in the two weeks prior. He coughed awkwardly and looked away. “I’m sorry. That was—Anyway, why are you not in the mood?”

It was Donna’s turn to look away in embarrassment. She concentrated hard on the ice in her glass. “Would it be cliched if I said a breakup?”

“Yes.” Toby laughed, but it was without much humor. “You—”

“You don’t—” Donna waved him off before he could really begin his clumsy attempt at talking about feelings, “We don’t have to talk. We can just sit here.”

“Right.”

They sat in compatible silence for a few moments, the bar swirling around them, glasses clinking and people laughing, oblivious to the internal turmoil of the pair sat at the corner of the bar. Finally, a drunken shout from across the bar startled them both from their revelries “Hey, Fraulein Moss!” Josh called, “We’re leaving.”

“Don’t be offensive, jackass.” C.J. scolded from where she stood next to him, taking the opportunity to smack him upside the head.

As the others headed towards the exit, Donna looked between Toby and the window. “Alright.” she said with a newfound determination, totally in opposite from the doleful girl of twenty minutes ago. She downed the rest of her whiskey and slammed the glass on the bar top with a thump, “We’re doing something.”

“What?”

“Just, I don’t know, cover me.”

***

“How did you—” Toby broke off in obvious disbelief. 

“Do you really want to know?” Donna asked. 

“No, I suppose not.” 

“Now, what would a group of Bartlet staffers do if they found themselves in possession of a life-size cutout of John Hoynes?”

**Author's Note:**

> Is this category fraud? Maybe. But I gave you some good bits of Josh and Donna banter! That has to count for something! Drag me in the comments if you must.
> 
> If you're interested, come hang out with me on [tumblr](https://torn--and--frayed.tumblr.com/)


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